


Sine Qua Non

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Backstory, Canon Compliant, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, First Crush, First Sexual Desire, M/M, Manipulation, Pre-Canon, Seduction, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: The year after Marlas is miserable. Aimeric is fourteen, despondent, and completely unprepared for what a visit from His Royal Highness the Regent of Vere will mean to him.





	Sine Qua Non

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/gifts).



The Royal guards regiment passed through Fortaine lands on their way to join the Southern host at Marlas. The forced march to bolster morale after the initial retreat from the border meant that there would not be a reception at Fortaine or any of the smaller keeps, but onlookers still gathered to watch and gawk at the royal family as they proceeded to war. 

Most Southern banners had already left for the front, so those gathered for the impromptu parade were mostly women, and men and boys too old or too young to be expected to fight. They lined the sides of the road with flags, baskets of flowers and ribbons, cheering as the King and his heir rode by. Prince Auguste was nearly universally beloved – handsome, charismatic, with a warm smile for everyone, he was the daydream of young girls and youthful lads alike. 

Lord Guion of Fortaine could boast two sons at the front and rode out to the parade with his two youngest. Aimeric, then a boy of thirteen, slipped his father at the first opportunity and went to find his friends. They had already secured a place at the side of the road and were waiting for him. Excitement bubbled and fizzled in the air. Aimeric felt it in the pit of his stomach, in his chest, in the marrow of his bones. He wished that he was old enough to go to the war as well. Boys younger than him had gone as squires, and rumor had it that the King was taking his reluctant second son, who was not quite fourteen, to the front with him. And although Prince Laurent was unlikely to see any fighting whatsoever, the mere idea of being there set Aimeric’s imagination on fire. Certainly, there would be ways he could make himself useful. 

But even his brother, Pierre, who was fifteen, was not to go. Even if Aimeric could convince his father, his mother would never allow it. It was only Lucien and Arnaud who were to see glory. 

When Aimeric joined his friends, they were deep in discussion. “What if they do not come this way?” Cade was saying, fidgeting nervously. 

“Which way would they go?” Andre, the oldest of their group of four said. “This is the most direct route to Marlas. Besides, they’re here to boost morale,” 

“And fight!” Aimeric put in. 

Andre gave him the look one might give a sweet but overeager child. “In a sense. But the guards aren’t really meant to be employed for battle. Not to mention there aren’t many of them. We must wait for the Northern host to get real reinforcements. If only they weren’t taking their bloody time getting down here.” 

Aimeric, Cade and Antoine nodded solemnly. Andre would be sixteen in three days. He would leave for Marlas within the week. They expected him to understand such things. 

Nonetheless, Aimeric said, with a solemn sort of gravity, “Prince Auguste will fight. He’s no figurehead prince.” 

“Long live the Prince!” Antoine shouted in agreement. Several people around them cheered in automatic response. 

“I wanted to bring ribbons or cockades,” Aimeric said, “But my father is very stern that Pierre and I do not come off too girlish.” 

“It’s alright, I brought us a basket.” Cade held up the basket in question. It was full to the brim with prince’s-blue ribbons. Aimeric whooped and grabbed a handful. 

They waited. The sun was bright and warm, but not yet raging with blistering summer heat. A cool breeze whipped through Aimeric’s hair and the bright banners lining the dusty road. There was a faint whiff of salt and sea on the wind and it made Aimeric think of the summer to come and how he, his mother and little Georgiana would take daytrips to the coast. Perhaps Antoine, as Georgiana’s betrothed, would come with them and he and AImeric would run through the foaming surf while Georgiana built sandcastles under a larger silk parasol. 

The war would make some things more difficult. But the war would be over soon. They would be victorious. _They would be victorious._ Aimeric was old enough to understand that people would die, but young enough to where it was easy to imagine that these people would not be anyone he loved. 

The throng that had gathered by the road that morning only reinforced his thoughts on the matter. It was full of excitement and hope, anticipation of great victories, despite the deep-seated fear of loss. Every Southern family had someone at the front. Aimeric had his two brothers, an uncle and two cousins. Cade had his father; Antoine his elder brother. But it had been many years since the last large war and few people remembered the grief such affairs brought personally. For the young boys, it was a fairytale come to life. 

Aimeric’s heart swelled at the thought of seeing Prince Auguste. He had never seen him up close; most of what he knew about the prince was from coins and portraits and stories that others told him. But what he did know was enough to make his breath catch. Their Prince was the bravest of warriors, the most generous of sovereigns, the most handsome and gallant of men. And unlike so many Northerners, he appreciated the South – their patriotism, their sacrifice of always being the first line of defense for Vere. And he was coming here himself to fight for them, to fight for Vere. 

_Fuck the Northern host_ , Aimeric thought. _The damn Akielons will flee just at the sight of our Prince, and our men will rejoice at his presence and be twice stronger._

The sound of horns made the crowd gasp and shout all at once. “They’re coming!” Cade yelled. “They’re coming!” 

In the distance, the rumble of hooves and rattle of armor could already be heard, just beyond the slight rise in the road. Aimeric clutched his handful of ribbons and squinted against the sun. 

The avant-garde came first, with banners and standards and war horns. They slowed from a trot to a walk upon reaching the crowd. And then behind them, in gilded half-helms and bright capes over polished armor, flanked by squires and adjutants, came the royal family. The king rode first with Auguste beside him. Behind them came the king’s brother and young Prince Laurent. 

The crowd began to cheer. King Aleron remained imperious and calm, only occasionally raising his hand to acknowledge the crowd. The king’s brother seemed to pay no mind to the crowd at all, though his face was more relaxed, and he looked over at his nephew occasionally and spoke to him, though it was unlikely that Laurent could hear him well over the shouting and cheering. The young prince was cool and collected, straight-backed on his young mare, and very pale. He was watching the crowd without acknowledging it. 

But Aimeric hardly saw any of it. His attention was glued to Prince Auguste, who had taken off his helm to reveal a mass of golden hair and was waving at the crowd as the procession passed by. He seemed to smile at everyone and at each person individually all at once. _He’s even more handsome than the portraits_ , Aimeric thought. The Prince cut a stunning figure on his white horse, with the sun reflecting off his armor, the bright blue of his cape bringing out his eyes, and his tan face with its masculine lines lit up with a bright, internal joy. He seemed as caught up in the patriotic fervor as the crowd. He was the perfect warrior, the perfect Prince. 

When the procession came almost level with him, Aimeric tossed his handful of ribbons in the air and shouted as loud as he could, “ _Vivat!_ Long live Prince Auguste! Long live Vere!” 

His friends picked up the cheer and threw their own ribbons. At that moment, Prince Auguste, as though hearing them over the other shouts, turned and smiled into the crowd. To Aimeric, it felt like Auguste was smiling directly at him, as though their eyes had met for just a moment and he thought, desperately: _What joy it would be to die for him._

*~*

Georgiana’s room was next to Aimeric’s, so it was little impediment for her to creep out of bed without waking her governess and tiptoe to Aimeric’s door. Aimeric, who knew all this, was not surprised when he heard a light knocking just as he was preparing to put aside his book and put out the candle. “It’s not locked,” he called. 

There was a second’s pause and then the door cracked open and Georgiana slipped into the room and made straight for her brother’s bed. Without asking, she climbed up on the bed and sat atop the blankets, her long hair unbraided for bed and hiding half of her face. “I can’t sleep,” she said. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I dropped my doll on the way back from saying goodnight to Mama. Madame was quizzing me, and I was not paying attention. I know I had her when I was speaking to Mama and then I got to my room and she wasn’t with me.”

Aimeric shrugged, not seeing the problem. “I’m sure she won’t go anywhere until tomorrow.”

“But she always sits on my bed while I sleep. I was too scared to ask Madame to help me go back and look as it was past my bedtime already. And I’m too frightened to go out and look myself now. I’d have to go all the way up to Mama’s room and those stairs creak. I still think there’s a ghost that lives there.”

Aimeric rolled his eyes at her. “So, you want me to go look.” 

“Oh, Aimeric, you’re so brave! Please, won’t you! And you’re old enough that you won’t get in trouble for wondering around at night.” She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Aimeric sighed and hugged her back. He could never refuse Georgiana., especially when she was like this. He liked being her hero. 

“Alright, I’ll try. But no promises. Go back to bed though, before Madame wakes up and sees that you’re gone.” After seeing Georgiana to her room, Aimeric picked up his lit candle and made his way through the halls and up the winding, creaking staircase to his parent’s rooms. By the time he turned into the last hallway he’d given up hope of finding the doll. Georgiana was either misremembering or one of the servants had found the doll and picked it up for safekeeping until the morning. 

Suddenly, Aimeric realized that the large door at the end of the hall was closed and muffled voices could be heard form the other side. 

His parents were talking. Aimeric froze and tiptoed down the hallway, blowing out the candle he was holding. He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but sometimes this was the only way he could figure out his father’s thoughts and feelings. Lord Guion was not a very open person. 

“Once the war is over and the boys come back,” his father was saying, “I think it will be time to start planning for Pierre’s induction into the Order.”

“So soon? He’s still very young.”

“Well, it won’t be immediately, but I imagine I will need to go to the capital for some time with Arnaud and I’d like to have things taken care of before I leave.” 

“Can’t Lucien help him?”

“Lucien doesn’t have the clout yet. Then, once Arnaud has his post, I can come back to finish things off on Pierre’s behalf. But I want them to get a good look at him before I go. What have the tutors been saying?”

“Same thing as always, he’s very diligent, very capable.”

“Good, good.”

“You have it all figured out, Guion, don’t you?” Aimeric could hear the slight irritation in his mother’s voice. 

“Well, someone has to think about their future, Loyse. Lucien, as my heir, will be at court, Arnaud will have a secretarial post at some embassy abroad. Pierre will join the Order. It will suit him. He has always been best at…intellectual pursuits. It’s suitable enough – members of the Order are well regarded; they’ve become court historians and chief archivists and heraldists—What?”

“What about Aimeric, then?”

“What about him?”

“You never talk about his future the same way. Or is he not part of your plan?”

Aimeirc bit his lip, his teeth sinking deeper and deeper as the silence dragged on. Finally, he heard his father give a deep sigh. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Loyse. It’s what happens when you have too many sons. I only agreed because you wanted another girl. Can you imagine if Georgiana had been a boy too? What in the world would we have done with a _fifth_ boy?”

The bitter copper taste that suddenly filled Aimeric’s mouth told him that he had made his lip bleed. He sucked on it instead and tasted even more blood. 

“Well, I’m sure there will be something for Aimeric to do,” his father was saying. “Perhaps he will do alright at court in his own time. He’s attractive enough. It’s hard to tell now that he’s so young.” 

Suddenly nauseous and unable to listen to the conversation any further, Aimeric ran back to his room, forgetting entirely about Georgiana and her doll. He slipped under the blankets and hid his face against the pillow. He knew his father did not love him the way he loved Lucien and Arnaud. He knew that he wasn’t smart like Pierre, and he’d be bored to death studying with the Order. But he did try to not be useless. He worked hard at his riding, swordsmanship and archery lessons. He wasn’t awful at it either. Aimeric figured he could be at least of some use. 

He flipped over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling through the dark. He fantasized about how he would prove his father wrong. He would train and become a good fighter. He would ride in tourneys and soon take many titles. Perhaps, one day, Prince Auguste would see him in a tourney and be so impressed that he would go up to Aimeric’s father afterwards and say, “My Lord, your son is a great warrior. I want him by my side when I next see battle.” And his father would be impressed and Aimeric would kneel before his Prince and say, “Your Highness, my sword is yours…” 

It was to these sweet daydreams that Aimeric drifted off to sleep—

—And woke with the feeling that something was very wrong. 

It was still dark and Aimeric could not find the candle and striker he had earlier dropped as soon as he’d gotten back to his bedchamber. So, he shrugged on a robe and tiptoed into the hallway. He could hear voices coming from the entrance hall downstairs, which only increased his feeling of unease. Visitors in the middle of the night never boded well. 

By the time Aimeric got down to the main hall, his mother and brother were already there. Tristan, Captain of Fortaine’s garrison, was there as well, looking pale and anxious. Lord Guion was deep in reading a letter by the faint light of a single lamp. 

“What’s happened?” Aimeric asked. He felt the slight form of Georgiana appear beside him in the dark and slip under his arm for comfort. 

“A courier brought a message from the front just now,” Pierre told him in a half-whisper. “I think it’s foul news.”

Aimeric held his breath. 

When Lord Guion looked up, his face was ashen. “Lucien writes. He is well but Arnaud is badly wounded,” he said. Lady Loyse let out a strangled sound and covered her mouth with a handkerchief. Georgiana pressed harder into Aimeric’s side. “There’s more. Marlas has fallen. The King and Prince Auguste are dead.” 

Aimeric suddenly felt like he was floating. The impossibility of the news convinced him for a moment that he was having a nightmare. Any moment now he would wake and it would be morning, with the sun bright and the sky blue, and this would have all been a bad dream. 

Lord Guion turned to Tristan. “It’s hard to say if the Alkielons will proceed directly north of veer off toward Ravenel. We need to prepare for a siege.” 

“It’s not true!” Aimeric blurted out suddenly. “It’s not true.” It could not be true. 

Lord Guion turned to his youngest son and gave him a long, cold look. For a moment, Aimeric thought he was going to be told off, but then the moment passed, and his father returned to giving his Captain instructions on siege preparations. 

All around Aimeric, people were talking. Georgiana was crying; Pierre was comforting their mother. But Aimeric could not find any emotion within himself other than shock and horror. Prince Auguste was dead, they had lost Marlas, his brother was wounded. 

Prince Auguste was dead. 

*~*

There was no siege. The king’s brother, now Regent for the young Prince Laurent, had quickly negotiated a peace treaty which lost Vere Delfeur but saved lives and further humiliation. The Northern host never saw a day of battle. By the time they got to the front, the treaty was already signed. 

There was no siege, but there were funerals. Endless funerals. It felt like there was not a single Southern family not in mourning after Marlas. Aimeric had lost an uncle on his mother’s side and a cousin on his father’s. It was a miracle Arnaud survived his wounds. 

Cade lost his father; Antoine his elder brother. Two days after Marlas’ fall, the news came that Andre had been killed. 

Aimeric went from funeral to funeral – his family’s, his friend’s, his friends’ family, and the late spring did not feel like spring at all. 

*~*

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Cloudy mornings in early summer were stifling, too moist and humid, and too gloomy. Aimeric was sitting with Cade on a stretch of Fortaine’s ramparts, swinging their feet and looking down at the ground far below. Sometimes, Aimeric wondered what it would be like to jump. The high collar of his black mourning doublet scratched uncomfortably against his throat and he wanted to rip it off. 

“My father…had debts. We could pay while we had our lands in Delfeur – or whatever they’re calling it now—”

“It will always be Delfeur,” Aimeric bit out. 

“Well. Either way.” Cade’s voice was hollow, almost unrecognizable. He and Aimeric were of age and Aimeric thought of Cade as the one who always smiled, always laughed and came up with pranks to play on their friends and siblings. Now, it was like all that life had been drained out of him. “We’ve lost our lands. So, we can’t pay. We’re going to sell the manor and go north to live with my aunt and uncle.”

Aimeric bit his lip and looked down so that Cade could not see the anger and despair written over his face. It wasn’t Cade’s fault. His family had never been particularly rich and losing their lands put them in an impossible position. “How far north are you going?”

“Up to Varenne.” 

_We’ll never see each other again_ , Aimeric thought. Varenne felt like an entire world away. He jumped to his feet and paced to the other side of the battlements. Cade followed him. “When are you going?” Aimeric asked, his voice tight. 

“End of the month, I think.” 

“Fine.”

“Aimeric, what do you want me to say? You think I want to go?”

Aimeric turned on him and saw the accusation written in the thin press of Cade’s mouth. _Don’t be selfish about this._ Aimeric deflated. “I just don’t want you to go,” he said, sounding childish and frightened even to his own ears. “You’re all I have left. Andre is gone. Antoine is so busy being the new heir that he never answers my letters, not to mention coming to visit. Not that he could. Do you know his father broke the betrothal to Georgiana? My father says he wants nothing to do with their family anymore. Because it’s a scandal.” Aimeric shrugged. He didn’t really care if it was a scandal or not, and Georgiana was too young to care or be hurt by such things. Everyone could see it was a political decision - with Antoine now the heir, his father must have set sight on an even more prestigious match. Aimeric didn’t care if he and Antoine would never be brothers now. He only cared that they could remain friends, and that possibility was slipping further and further away through no design of his own. “You’re all I have left,” he repeated. 

Cade’s expression was pinched and closed off as he answered: “At least you still have your father and your brothers. It’s more than many can say.” 

“At least,” Aimeric echoed. It felt hollow and empty. _I’m nothing to my father. I’m nothing to my brothers. Even Pierre doesn’t know how to talk to me anymore._ But he did not know how to put those feelings into words that would not hurt, would not offend. So, he remained silent as Cade walked away. 

*~*

By the time he turned fourteen, Aimeric could hardly recognize his life. He had never felt so isolated, so devoid of any purpose. Seemingly, life went on. He still had lessons and trained at sword-fighting and archery, Georgiana still asked him to take her on walks with her pony, his father still plotted, his brothers still mostly ignored him. Arnaud recovered from his wounds but there was something off about him now. He often forgot things, often lashed out at people for apparently no reason, especially Aimeric: _You want to be a warrior, do you? You’re nothing but a silly little boy._ Lord Guion worried about Arnaud’s state of mind so much that he postponed his plans at the capital and focused on sending Pierre away to study with the Order instead. 

By early spring, Aimeric found himself more alone than he had ever felt before. His friends were gone from him, one way or another, the one brother he got along with even a little was sent away, Georgiana was still a child, and even his mother was withdrawn – the loss of her brother and her worry over Arnaud putting a strain on her own health. 

Aimeric tried to fill the emptiness with training, but that did not go according to plan either. He would pick up a sword or a bow and feel the strange, terrifying emptiness in his chest fill up his entire body until his hands shook and he could no longer concentrate on what he was doing. Aimeric did not know where this sudden hysteria came from, but it made everything that much harder. Where he had once dreamed of riding in tourneys and going to war at his Prince’s side, he now somehow, viscerally, hated the thought of either without understanding why. Besides, Auguste was dead. It was almost as though Auguste had been a personification of all of Aimeric’s dreams – a bright, warm future that could smile at a boy in a parade crowd and make him feel noticed and special. 

With that dream cut down too, everything felt hopeless. His father now looked at him with added consternation. Not only was he one son too many but he could not even make himself properly useful. What was the point of anything anymore? 

*~*

“The Regent is coming to visit us,” Lord Guion said over dinner one evening, setting aside the evening mail. “We will have a reception and a hunt.” He threw a look over his children. “I expect the lot of you to be on your best behavior. Make yourselves agreeable.” 

“Is the Prince coming too?” Georgiana piped up. She was almost ten and her interest in boys had recently grown exponentially. 

“No,” Lord Guion said. “Prince Laurent does not have the…constitution for the South. Besides, there’s no reason for him to come. The Regent will be here on matters of state.” 

“When will they arrive?” Arnaud asked. 

“We are to expect His Royal Highness within the fortnight.”

Aimeric pushed his food around without much appetite. He supposed it would be a fun distraction to have a big hunt – that was if his father allowed him to go. He was fourteen now, if barely, and he could ride just as well as any of the older men. But perhaps he would be thought of as a nuisance. His brothers were men grown and war heroes, they would certainly be welcome. His father looked very please. Of course, it would be an honor to receive the Regent.

“My dear, I do wish you had told me earlier," Lady Loyse said. “I would have had more time to prepare.” 

Beside Aimeric, Georgiana was whispering conspiratorially, “I heard the Regent is very handsome. For an older man.” 

Aimeric rolled his eyes at her and hurried to finish his dinner before he got in trouble for waffling around. _Perhaps it will be a fun distraction_ , he repeated to himself. That would be a welcome change from the nearly endless state of mourning Fortaine had been in for the past ten months. 

*~*

Aimeric stood with the rest of the Fortaine household lined up in the courtyard before the front gates of the fort, waiting for the Regent’s party to arrive. They had gotten word quarter of an hour before that the royal entourage was less than a league away and hurried to gather in the courtyard to wait for their arrival. 

Soon enough, there were shouts of “Open the gates!” and the large steal grated gates of Fortaine rose just in time to allow in a party of about a dozen riders. The courtyard filled with stamping hooves, neighing and shouting as the riders came to rest and a swarm of stable boys rushed forward to take hold of the horses. 

Aimeric, his head respectfully bowed, chanced a glance up to watch the Regent dismount. He was a man younger than Lord Guion with a handsome, open face and piercing eyes. He wore a very small and well-groomed mustache and his sandy brown hair, darker than Prince Auguste’s had been, was peppered with white. He stood tall and regal in a blood-red cloak, surveying the courtyard. He looked more wan and tired than Aimeric remembered from the parade but somehow the look befit his features. Aimeric felt the first tingle of excitement in his stomach.

“Lord Guion, I appreciate the reception,” the Regent said lightly, the lilting tones of his voice clearly northern but smooth enough to not be jarring. 

“Your Highness, we are honored.” Lord Guion said. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Loyse.”

“My Lady.” The Regent kissed Lady Loyse’s hand, his cape swishing behind him as he did. It made a pretty picture. 

“My sons: Lucien, Arnaud. Both were at Marlas.” 

“War heroes, then,” the Regent said seriously. “And this is your youngest?” 

Aimeric straightened as the Regent turned to look at him. He tried to relax, to not make his posture too stiff, but it was difficult with so many eyes now on him. 

“Aimeric,” Lord Guion said, a shade of something Aimeric could not quite discern in his tone. 

“Your Highness,” Aimeric said, bowing his head again, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. The household had just passed out of half-mourning and Aimeric was only beginning to readjust to the fashionable cinched tailoring of regular clothes. The new, bright-red doublet with gold lacing that his father had insisted Aimeric wear was very tight and showed off every line of Aimeric’s body. Aimeric felt a little trapped in it. It pulled on his limbs and constricted his movements. But it was very _adult_ tailoring, so he bore it to please his father and their honored guests. 

The Regent was looking at Aimeric with an incredible amount of interest. Aimeric had expected that the Regent would barely notice him. After all, everyone else hardly did. But, instead, he found himself scrutinized for nearly half a minute before, finally, the Regent nodded politely as he had to Aimeric’s brothers and said, “My Lord.” 

Aimeric swallowed. The words were soft, velvety. They slid over his skin and into his head, making it buzz pleasantly. 

“Shall we go in,” Lady Loyse said, breaking the sudden silence of the courtyard. “If you would like to settle in your rooms, Your Highness, and then join us for supper? You must be hungry from the journey.” 

“Very much so, My Lady,” the Regent replied, his attention suddenly completely averted from Aimeric. The loss of that attention felt like a bucket of cold water suddenly being tipped over his head and Aimeric just stood frozen for a few seconds, until Georgiana elbowed him in the side. Breaking out of his stupor, Aimeric hurried to follow the rest of his family inside. 

_My Lord_ , the Regent had called him. It sounded adult and respectful and—Aimeric shook his head to get the thoughts out. _It was just for show. It doesn’t mean anything. No one notices you, remember?_

*~*

The entire company was very merry at dinner. Lord Guion regaled the Regent with tales of local oddities and amusing political faux pas. Lucien showed an incredible amount of interest in anything and everything the Regent said. Arnaud shared touching stories of Veretian bravery at the front lines. Lady Loyse expertly mediated the entire conversation, making sure it flowed naturally but in such a way as to be most pleasant for the Regent. Georgiana’s musical talents were put on offer for entertainment after dessert and she blushed so deeply that Aimeric thought she might spontaneously combust. 

Aimeric mostly kept quiet, though he noticed the Regent watching him curiously a few times. This made eating difficult. 

After dinner, the men stood up to retire for whiskey and smokes. Aimeric was prepared to head upstairs with Georgiana when the Regent’s smooth, quiet voice cut through the general chatter. “Lord Guion, I would think Aimeric old enough for a nightcap, wouldn’t you say?”

There was a moment of confusion before Lord Guion nodded and, laughing a little nervously, said, “Of course, Your Highness. Aimeric, come along.”

Aimeric had never had anything stronger than wine. But the Regent took the pains to personally pour him a glass, so there was no way to refuse. He took it and, to his own mortification, blurted out, “Your Highness’ health.” He was certain his father was staring daggers into the back of his head for speaking out of turn, but the Regent only smiled and nodded graciously.

Aimeric drank. The whisky was bitter on his tongue and hot in his throat. He suppressed a coughing fit and let the heat slide down into his stomach and spill across his chest. Once he got over the initial surprise of the feeling, it was actually rather pleasant. Two more sips in and he began to really enjoy it, feeling his muscles relax a little and the buzzing thoughts in his head settle just enough for him to not feel an awkwardness on the verge of tears. 

The rest of the night was spent with the men discussing politics and Aimeric struggling to keep a pleasant expression on his face and not look too bored. When the time neared midnight, the company rose to retire.

“Aimeric,” Lord Guion said, quietly, but very purposefully. “Please show the Regent to his rooms.”

For a moment, Aimeric panicked at not knowing _where_ that was, before realizing that his father must mean the large guest suite. That was the only set of rooms that a guest as important as the Regent could be put up in. He smiled, wishing he could have the warmth of the whisky, which had evaporated a long time ago, again to soothe his nerves. “Please, Your Highness, follow me.” 

Aimeric led the Regent through the halls not daring to look at him. He felt like the Regent was watching him far more intensely than he had at dinner and Aimeric wondered if he was doing something wrong. When they stopped in front of the large oak doors, however, and Aimeric could no longer avert his eyes, he saw that the Regent’s expression was pleasant, even pleased. “Your rooms, Your Highness. There is staff on hand to assist you, you need only ring.” Aimeric tried for a smile. 

The pause that followed was a little longer than absolutely necessary. The candle in Aimeric’s hand flickered. He realized his hands were shaking. The Regent looked like he wanted to say something but was hesitating and it put Aimeric on edge. He was not used to being regarded this closely even by his own family. Having a man who, by all rights, should have hardly noticed him showing such clear interest in his existence was disconcerting. Finally, the Regent said, very warmly it seemed to Aimeric, “Thank you. Pleasant night to you.”

“Good night, Your Highness,” Aimeric said and hurried to leave before he managed to do anything embarrassing. 

*~*

The Regent and Aimeric’s father got an early start to their day the next morning, locking themselves up in Lord Guion’s study, so that when Aimeric came down to breakfast, they had already retired to their conference. Aimeric was baffled that this both relieved and disappointed him. The way the Regent had looked at him the night before stayed in the back of his mind, no matter what else he distracted himself with. He wanted to see the Regent again, to figure out what it was that he had seen and felt the night before. 

After breakfast, Aimeric went to his usual lessons until he was summoned by his father. 

Lord Guion was alone in his study when Aimeric arrived, seated behind his large, imposing desk, with the evening sun slanting through the colorful stained glass behind him. He looked thoughtful in that way that Aimeric recognized as _scheming_. His father usually had that look when he thought he was about to get exactly what he wanted from someone who thought they were getting what they wanted from _him_. 

“Father,” Aimeric said, hesitating in the doorway. 

“Close the door.”

Aimeric shut the door and took several steps into the room. He waited as his father regarded him impassively. “You realize, perhaps, Aimeric, that the Regent is a very important guest.”

“Yes, Father.” Everything inside Aimeric coiled up in nauseous anticipation of being told off. Perhaps he had done something wrong the other night after all and the Regent had complained or even just mentioned it off-handedly. 

“It is very important that we make him feel welcome here. That he enjoys the comforts and pleasures that the South has to offer. Especially our family.”

Aimeric nodded, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

There was a long pause in which Aimeric squirmed inwardly, clasping his hands as tight as he could behind his back and trying to stand as straight and still as he could. Finally, Lord Guion said, “You will attend to him tonight. After dinner.” It came out almost casually, like a comment of no consequence. 

“Me?” Aimeric blurted out. Then, with some trepidation: “What must I do?” He had never been tasked with attending a guest. Certainly not one as important as the Regent. He had no understanding of what was to be done in such cases and if anything specific was required. 

Lord Guion stood. He did not seem particularly concerned about this part, only thoughtful, as though it was all part of some bigger picture or like he was considering how to best relay the information to Aimeric’s mother. “The important thing,” Lord Guion said, coming out from behind the desk. “is that you make yourself pleasant to him. Use that pretty face, boy. I’ve been informed that it is indeed pretty.” Lord Guion shook his head.

 _Informed by who?_ Aimeric wanted to ask but decided against potentially provoking his father with excessive curiosity. “Yes, Father,” he managed, a little blankly. 

Lord Guion put his hands on Aimeric’s shoulders and squeezed a little tighter than was entirely necessary. “Remember, son. This is important. For our family, for the South. Perhaps even for you one day.” 

And then, before Aimeric could get out another word, he was gone, leavening Aimeric alone in the spacious study, wondering what it all meant. But, at least, it seemed like the Regent had found him agreeable and he hadn’t inadvertently embarrassed himself. 

*~*

That night, after the evening round of whisky and smoking, when Aimeric walked with the Regent to his rooms, he went inside. 

The rooms were well lit with a fire burning in the fireplace and the bed prepared for sleeping. The servants would have been instructed to take the utmost care to make sure the upkeep of the Regent’s rooms was faultless. Aimeric, completely uncertain of what was expected of him, waited for instruction with his eyes lowered. 

“I see you’ve never squired for anyone,” the Regent said. Aimeric flinched at the taunt, but when he looked up, the Regent was smiling at him. _More teasing then._

 __“I was fostered when I was younger, Your Highness. But it was…different.”

“Yes, yes. Armor polishing and the like. Well, this isn’t much different, really.” He held out a hand to Aimeric. “Start with the cufflinks.” 

Helping the Regent undress was awkward only to the extent that Aimeric was still terrified of making a mistake and this being reported to his father. He worked his way through the lacing and clasps of the Regent’s doublet, then the lacing over his chest. The thick, heavy fabric went sliding off his shoulders and into Aimeric’s arms. The vest, cravat and boots went next, all in a silent array of string and clasps coming undone under Aimeric’s fingers, until the Regent was left only in his linens. Aimeric could see the forms of his chest and abdomen through the light fabric of his undershirt. The Regent reached up and undid the ties on the shirt himself, exposing a slither of skin and chest hair. 

Something in Aimeric’s stomach tightened. He swallowed and looked away. The Regent did not seem to notice. 

As of recent, Aimeric’s body was beginning to change and act in ways that would have been impossible when he was younger. His tutor, who had found him once in an embarrassing predicament, told him he would learn to control it soon enough, but for now, Aimeric was still subject to the whims of his natural reactions, and he was mortified that the Regent might become witness to one of these unbidden movements. 

To Aimeric’s relief, the Regent shrugged on a soft, long robe. “How about another nightcap, My Lord?”

Aimeric looked up, uncertain of whether it would be rude to decline or too presumptuous to accept. “If Your Highness wishes.”

The Regent smiled and pulled out a bottle of what looked like fine Northern cognac and two glasses from one of the mahogany cabinets lining one side of the room. “You’re unlikely to taste anything like this in the South.” He poured their glasses and handed one to Aimeric. 

“To Your Highness’ health,” Aimeric said. 

“Didn’t we already drink to that before?”

Aimeric flushed. If he wasn’t morbidly embarrassed it was only because the Regent’s tone was light and content, teasing even. It was a warm, welcoming tone that Aimeric felt would be easy to drown in if he didn’t feel so anxious. “To Vere then.”

“To Vere.”

They drank. The cognac was smooth and a little on the sweeter side – not that Aimeric was an expert – and it filled Aimeric with the same sort of warmth the whisky had. His tutor would say that he was drinking far too much for a boy his age. But his tutor wasn’t there. And His Royal Highness was. 

The Regent went to sit in one of the armchairs by the fire and motioned for Aimeric to take the second one. “Good, is it not?” the Regent said. 

“Yes,” Aimeric agreed. 

“Another toast then. To the South.”

Aimeric flushed, this time with pleasure. “To the South!”

Aimeric drank and found his glass empty. The Regent refilled it. 

“Your Highness,” Aimeric said cautiously, “perhaps I should not be…”

“Drinking so much? Nonsense. All the boys in Arles drink alongside the men by your age. I know it’s rather colder in the north and all – well, if you don’t wish to—”

“No, I do! Your Highness.” Aimeric stared down into his glass. He was getting a little too warm from the drink to feel particularly embarrassed. 

“Do you know why I’m here, Aimeric?—You don’t mind if I call you Aimeric do you, My Lord?”

“Of course not, Your Highness.” As though Aimeric could possibly give any other answer. Although, as nice as it sounded to be addressed _My Lord_ as though he was a man grown, he almost preferred the use of his name. It felt less formal, less intimidating. He could pretend that the Regent was just a distant relative he never saw and needed to please for the sake of his political connections. Aimeric could breathe a little easier like this, feel something more pleasant that just anxiety and embarrassment. 

“So, do you know why I’m here, Aimeric?”

“To discuss affairs of state with my lord father.”

“Yes. I am also thinking of making your father an ambassador. What do you think of that?”

Aimeric bit his lip to not grin. No wonder his father was so on edge that everything be perfect. This wasn’t just any reception of a royal guest. This was a deciding point in his father’s career. Aimeric was old enough to understand _that._ “It would be an honor, Your Highness. Where would you send him to, if I may ask?” The alcohol had loosened his tongue. Aimeric understood this vaguely, but could not seem to control his emotions and outbursts well anymore. 

“Akielos.”

Aimeric looked up sharply. He could not say how he felt about this. The war was over, and even during the last one, no diplomat had been harmed on either side. Diplomatic decorum had been sustained. Yet, it still felt somehow insulting to send a prominent Southern lord to Akielos of all places – that cesspit of disease, depravity and barbarism. _Especially_ a Southern lord.

“I see you are…concerned.”

Aimeric bit his lip and considered his words. “Your Highness, any appointment would be an honor. One so…precarious and with a country we have so much…history with, even more so. I am certain this is a sign of your gracious trust in my father. And evidence of your appreciation of his skill.” 

The Regent was smiling again, that slightly amused smile which would have been condescending if it wasn’t so warm. At least it seemed warm to Aimeric. In tune and in line with the warmth spread through his body by the cognac and the whisky earlier. “Very good. It is indeed. In an allied country any half-decent diplomat with a competent staff would do. But in an enemy land one needs to be especially trustworthy, sly, clever, watchful and skilled. But you might wonder why I would burden a Southern lord with such a mission?”

Aimeric nodded, the motion so slight it was barely there. 

“Well, first, it is my great respect for the South. Your brothers are war heroes, Aimeric. They’re not the only Southern boys who are. The South has a special understanding and…respect for this particular conflict. No Southern lord would underestimate Alkielos or be swayed to its favor.” 

This time, Aimeric nodded more emphatically – in agreement. Their glasses were still half-full. Feeling suddenly brave, Aimeric offered, “To the heroes of Marlas.”

“To the heroes of Marlas,” the Regent agreed. 

Aimeric drank deeply, gulping down the cognac and letting it burn the back of his throat. Thinking of Marlas, of the war, and everything that came after, was still painful. The Regent must have been thinking in a similar vein because he was silent for a long time after. It dawned on Aimeric that the Regent had lost a brother and a nephew at Marlas and that his presence might no longer be welcome in sight of that grief. 

Aimeric stood. “You must be tired, Your Highness. Perhaps I should—”

“No, no. I did not mean to scare you off,” the Regent said, but instead of motioning for Aimeric to sit back down, he stood himself. “I was only thinking of my brother and Auguste. Prince Auguste.”

Aimeric nodded. “My greatest condolences on your grief, Your Highness. I—I was very—” He broke off, not knowing how to say what he wanted to say. Finding out about Prince Auguste’s death had broken something in him, shattered some last hold he had on his childhood. He had seen Auguste just days before, worshipped him, dreamed of serving under him and fighting alongside him and then—he was simply _gone._ And with the death of the King as well, who was left? Young Prince Laurent, who had not made much of an impression on Aimeric at the parade and did not, as Lord Guion said, have the “constitution” for the South? And the Regent, of course. But even so, what was that compared to losing a family member, and Aimeric did not wish to seem disrespectful. “I mourned Prince Auguste greatly.”

“Thank you, you are very kind, Aimeric. May we?” The Regent tipped his glass. “To Prince Auguste. May he be forever at peace.”

“To Prince Auguste. May his memory never fade.” They drank. “He would have been a great King. If I may speak frankly – he was my hero.”

The smile the Regent gave him was a little sad. It did not reach his eyes, though none of his smiles quite seemed to. Aimeric figured that was only natural for someone constantly dealing with political intrigue. There was only so much emotion one could show at any given time. “You’re a good lad, Aimeric.” The Regent said, setting aside his glass, reached out and putting both hands on Aimeric’s shoulders, squeezing them a little. “And you’re right. Auguste was a warrior. He loved his country and his people. He was a natural leader.” The Regent sighed and said, almost as though to himself, “If only Laurent had his temper and virtues.” 

It was an odd moment of vulnerability – a political man like the Regent divulging a lack of confidence in the crown prince, his own nephew. And to who? The youngest son of a Southern lord? _The alcohol has made the Regent more open, more earnest_ , Aimeric thought. It certainly had that effect on Aimeric. 

“Perhaps the hunt tomorrow will distract Your Highness from this terrible grief. If only for a few hours.” 

“Are you coming along?” 

“I would like to, if Your Highness has no objection.”

“On the contrary. I insist.” The Regent’s tone was lighter now, though he still had his hands on Aimeric’s shoulders. 

Aimeric allowed himself an aloof smile. “Your wish is my command.” That was true. The Regent’s wishes could, and often were, _literally_ commands. But in the private of the Regent’s rooms, by the fire, with the cognac bottle they had shared half-empty, it seemed like not such an inappropriate thing to joke about. 

The Regent seemed to agree as he laughed and let go of Aimeric. “Good night, My Lord.”

“Good night, Your Highness.” 

As he left, somewhere in the back of his mind, Aimeric must have noticed that not once did they drink to the health of Prince Laurent, which was rather irregular given the patriotic nature of their other toasts. But as this was an issue of no real import to Aimeric, he did not put much store by it. 

What he did put store in was the way the Regent had smiled at him, had trusted him to hear a potentially damaging confession, and the way he had said _I insist_ as though the success of his entire day would, in fact, depend on the decision of Lord Guion’s youngest, most useless son.

*~*

The hunt was a great success – far more than the mere distraction Aimeric had thought it could be. The party ended up catching several rabbits and both lunched and dined in camp-fashion around an open fire over which the caught rabbits were roasted in the evening. 

The Regent had insisted that Aimeric ride as his partner and they spent most of the day together. Aimeric felt much more relaxed around the Regent now than he had before. Perhaps it was because of their conversation the previous night, perhaps because Aimeric’s pack of borzois did extraordinarily well, or simply because he had gotten used to the Regent and no longer found him as intimidating. All Aimeric knew was that it had been a long time since he had been as happy as he was that evening – smelling the roasting rabbit, drinking mulled wine by the fire, and drinking in the Regent’s attention which was steadfastly focused on him even as the other men laughed and joked around them. The night was warm for late winter and the sky was clear. 

Aimeric laughed more than he could remember doing in an entire year. He thought he caught his father watching him with an unreadable expression on his face but forgot to care. The Regent was clearly pleased with him, and that was all Lord Guion likely considered important. It was all _Aimeric_ considered important in that moment. 

At one point, just as they were finishing their meal of freshly roasted rabbit, the Regent raised his mug and proclaimed in a voice that carried and thrummed through the still evening air, “To Lord Aimeric of Fortaine and the best brood of borzois in all of Vere.” 

Aimeric flushed and fought a childish grin as the other men laughed and cheered, drinking to the successful hunt and savvy dogs. The Regent turned to Aimeric and met his eyes, touching his mug to Aimeric’s with a solemn sort of deliberation. Aimeric opened his mouth to say a pleasantry but found himself unable to speak. There was suddenly a lump in his throat and a twisting feeling at the bottom of his stomach. His body was reacting in its new and tantalizing ways, but it was more than that. 

_I heard the Regent is very handsome. For an older man_. Georgiana’s words from some weeks ago whispered in the back of Aimeric’s mind. There was some truth there. The Regent’s face was comely, his hair still thick with only a sprinkle of grey, his eyes lively if unreadable, the lines of his face noble and aristocratic. His entire demeanor was confidant and regal, but not cold or distant. He was soft-spoken and very kind to Aimeric, which served to emphasize his most handsome features and rendered the less pleasant ones unnoticeable. 

“May I attend you tonight, Your Highness?” Aimeric asked, his voice low. 

Something flickered across the Regent’s eyes, as unreadable as most of his unvoiced emotions. “Please.” 

*~*

That night, as they had been hunting all day, the Regent chose to bathe. A bath was filled for him in a small room adjacent to the bedchamber and partitioned off by a screen. Aimeric helped the Regent undress and respectfully averted his eyes as the Regent slipped behind the screen. He could hear the soft sigh the Regent gave as he sank into the warm water of the bath. 

“There certainly are a lot of soaps here,” the Regent called, his tone joking. “And I thought my sister-in-law had had a fancy for scented soaps and lotions.” 

“The servants wouldn’t have known which one you preferred, Your Highness.” Aimeric busied himself with folding and tidying the Regent’s clothes. 

“Perhaps you should come help me choose.” 

Aimeric froze. That felt like a highly irregular request. 

“Oh come, Aimeric, don’t you want to bathe? After the day we’ve had.” 

“I can wait, Your Highness,” Aimeric said, swallowing. He could not trust himself to go behind that screen. He did not even know if he wanted to. His body might betray him. His _feelings_ might betray him. 

“This bath is twice the size of a normal one. Come, we’ll fit just fine.”

“Your Highness, I’m not certain—”

“What are you shy about? Haven’t you gone swimming with your brothers?”

“Yes, but—” 

“Well don’t be such a maid about it.” There was a small, playful splashing sound from behind the screen. 

Aimeric did terribly want to take a bath. The Regent was right: he had often gone bathing and swimming with his brothers and friends in the summers. It had never been embarrassing or awkward to be naked around other boys. He supposed it would be the same among men. After all, what was the difference? He and the Regent were both men, it had been a long day, and there was no reason for Aimeric to wait as long as he would need to to secure a bath of his own Lord Guion liked old-fashioned, nearly antique baths, so those obtained by the Fortaine household were all extremely large and spacious – it would not be terribly difficult to fit two men in one. Put like that, it did seem odd to refuse the offer. 

Aimeric took off his clothes and slipped behind the screen. 

The Regent’s eyes were immediately on him, bright and almost feverish. This was a look Aimeric had never experienced before and it made him flush. He knew he could not possibly live up to the ideal physique of a boy his age. Despite his handsome face, his body was still childish – slim, narrow-shouldered, nearly hairless, with the musculature of someone who trained at swordfighting much and often but was still a child.

“Better,” the Regent said softly, clearly pleased. 

Aimeric slipped into the tub. The warm water washed over him and immediately the tension began to seep out of his muscles. They fit comfortably into the bath, touching only barely. It wasn’t all that bad. Aimeric reached for one of the soaps. 

They washed and the water began to fill with bubbles. The Regent scooped some of them up and blew them at Aimeric, making him laugh. The laugh came out silly and childish, but the Regent did not seem to mind. In fact, his smile only grew. 

”Turn around,” the Regent said. Aimeric gave him a puzzled look. “Go on.”

Aimeric obeyed. Despite the relative spaciousness of the antique tub it was still small enough for such a maneuver to be awkward and Aimeric ended up almost in the Regent’s lap. Suddenly, he felt strong, nimble fingers in his hair. Startled, Aimeric made a strangled noise, trying to not flinch away. 

“Alright?” the Regent asked. “You seemed tense so I thought this could help. I’m very good at this. Where is that hair soap now?” The Regent worked his hands through Aimeric’s hair, kneading the skin of his scalp and carding his fingers through Aimeric’s thick curls. Aimeric closed his eyes under the touch. His head swam from tiredness, warmth and the scent of the soaps and lotions. This felt better than anything he had experienced before.

Strange, even a little frightening, but good. 

Perhaps that was what being an adult was like and he was only experiencing it for the first time. Only because his father had little use for him and most of his siblings ignored him and his friends were gone from him did not mean that someone else could not appear in his life who would _care._ It seemed fantastical that that person would be the Regent of Vere and yet. There they were in a bath together, him attending to the Regent and now the Regent making him feel _this good._ Was this not just like a scene out a sordid book he was forbidden by his tutor on account of being too young but found and read anyway in the middle of the night, with his heart racing that he could be found out at any moment? This was what men who were pleasant to each other did. 

“You’re a fine lad, Aimeric. Brave and clever and so very handsome. Your father does not see half of it,” the Regent murmured, so close against Aimeric’s ear that his warm breath sent a tingle down Aimeric’s spine. His hands moved down Aimeric’s back. “You were at the parade before Marlas, were you not?”

“Yes.” Aimeric felt his breath catch. 

“I remember you. A boy in the crowd, bright-eyed and fresh-faced. There were many boys like that there, but whenever I thought about that day, I always came back to you.”

A small strangled sound came out from somewhere deep inside Aimeric’s chest, something between a whine and a moan. He tipped his head back and leaned into the Regent’s touch. The Regent’s hands moved lower to Aimeric’s waist, his hips—“ _Oh,_ ” the Regent said in a tone that was mostly surprised. 

Aimeric flinched when he understood what had happened. His body had betrayed him, and the Regent’s wondering hands had strayed upon the evidence. 

Aimeric jumped to his feet, a wave of cold reality spreading over him. He felt dizzy, disoriented. What was he doing? What were they doing? He suddenly felt nauseous and frightened, like a child caught with the cookie jar before dinner, except _worse._ He didn’t understand _why_ – he had not done anything that had not been asked of him, that had not been encouraged. He had not done anything he hadn’t wanted to do. Yet _that thing_ his body did was mortifying. In this situation only more so. 

The Regent, however, only leaned back against the tub and chuckled. “it’s normal, really. You _do_ know how to deal with it, don’t you?”

Aimeric found himself looking down, into the Regent’s lap. He didn’t know what he expected or wanted to see there. But the water was murky and covered with a thick layer of soap duds, so he could not see if the Regent was reacting in the same manner. 

“Aimeric?” 

Aimeric, burning up from embarrassment, looked up into the Regent’s face. “I’m sorry—I—what?”

“Do you know how to deal with it?”

Aimeric nodded, just barely. 

“Baths are a great place for such relief, you know. I could…help.” The Regent smiled and something about that smile unsettled Aimeric. Perhaps he was being a fool all along. Perhaps the Regent was only laughing at him the entire time. 

“Forgive me,” he muttered and jumped out of the tub, almost slipping on the wet floor. He scrambled to find his clothes, but his hands were shaking too much to lace a single thing and it was difficult to pull the tight-fitting fabric over his wet body. A pair of hands on his shoulders from behind made him freeze. 

“Aimeric, slow down.” 

Admitting defeat, Aimeric stopped what he was doing and turned to face the Regent. The Regent had shrugged on his long robe and was holding a towel, which he offered to Aimeric. Gingerly, Aimeric took it. 

“I did not mean to offend you. I suppose I was too glib.” 

Aimeric realized he was shaking. He was in over his head. He did not know if this was appropriate. He could not even be certain that it wasn’t all a dream. There was a part of him that wanted to reach out and touch the Regent’s chest, feel his arms around him, hear his voice saying all those sweet and kind things. Aimeric was not certain he could trust that part of himself. He had never felt like that before – lightheaded with joy and breathlessly terrified at the same time. He felt like a heroine from one of those sordid novels his tutor forbade him from reading. 

“I’m not offended,” Aimeric said, once again unable to meet the Regent’s eyes. He toweled off and began to dress. “I’m embarrassed.” 

“Why?”

Aimeric shrugged. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

“That makes it embarrassing?”

“It’s…uncouth. It’s—I don’t know. I don’t understand anything.” 

“Look at me, Aimeric.” The Regent’s voice was gentle. 

Aimeric forced himself to look up and into the Regent’s face. 

The Regent reached out and cupped his cheek, very gently. “Love is not meant to be understood.” 

“Is that what this is?” Aimeric’s voice went horse, cracking like it sometimes did as of late when he spoke in a timbre too low or too high. 

“What do you think it is?”

Feeling like he was going to spontaneously combust on the spot, Aimeric said, “I must go,” and practically ran from the room. 

*~*

Aimeric made it back to his own rooms in a daze. All he wanted was to go to bed and think about what had happened in the morning, when his head was clearer. He began to undress by the dim light of the single lamp by the door. 

“Aimeric.”

Aimeric jumped. Georgiana was sitting curled up on his bed, staring at him. “Are you alright?”

“What are you doing here?” Aimeric snapped. 

Georgiana’s eyes went wide and she hugged her knees. “Mother and Father are fighting. I went to say goodnight to Mama and the door was closed and they were arguing. I just wanted to get a hug.” 

Aimeric ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to not lash out at her. It was not her fault he was going mad with—what? Love? _Desire?_ Aimeric shuddered from the fury of contradictory emotions those thoughts caused. “Why were they fighting?”

“I don’t know really. About you.”

“About _me_?”

“I think? Mama was very upset and they said your name but I didn’t really understand what it all meant. It’s wrong to eavesdrop, so I left.” 

Aimeric sighed and went to sit beside her on the bed. “Well if they were fighting about me, then it could not have been very important.” He hugged her. “Go back to your room. I’m tired after the hunt.” 

“Where were you? Why are you all wet?”

“I was bathing.” That wasn’t, strictly speaking, a lie. 

“Where?”

“What do you mean--? For heaven’s sake, Georgiana, go to bed.” Aimeric shepherded her out into the hallway and locked the door. He finished undressing and crawled into bed. He thought he would never be able to fall asleep after what had happened, but his exhaustion was too great, and sleep came quickly. 

*~*

Aimeric dreamed of the Regent’s hands on his body, of the Regent’s lips on his neck, and the Regent’s voice, telling him that he was good and brave and clever and _worth it._

He woke to wet bedsheets and a heavy ache in his chest. 

*~*

Training helped Aimeric clear his mind and take away the barrage of thoughts that sometimes attacked him. In the moments when he felt most keenly like finding out what would happen if he jumped from the highest Fortaine battlements, he picked up a sword instead and went to fight imaginary foes in the training yard. 

The morning after his bath with the Regent he did just that, skipping breakfast altogether. He swung at pretend enemies, jumped and danced around phantom attacks. He focused on his strikes and his footwork, pushing himself more and more, until his throat burned and he could hardly breath. 

A slow applause from the sidelines pulled Aimeric back into reality. He looked over and his heart skipped a beat when his eyes met the Regent’s. Aimeric bowed and waited. 

“We missed you at breakfast,” the Regent said. “No wonder you’re so good with that sword, if you even skip meals to practice with it.”

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” Aimeric mumbled. 

The Regent came closer and lowered his voice. “Are you upset at me for last night?”

Aimeric considered this for a moment. “No,” he said, honestly. 

“Good. Then come riding with me this afternoon after luncheon. Just the two of us.”

*~*

Aimeric wasn’t certain that being alone with the Regent again was a good idea. But riding wasn’t like bathing. Besides, a larger part of him wanted to go than was afraid to. So they went. 

They rode to the Honeyed Wood and along the broader paths for some time, then tied up their horses and continued on foot in companionable silence.

“May I ask you something?” Aimeric said, finally having worked up the nerve to speak of the night before. “What you said last night about love? Was that real?”

“That it is not meant to be understood? Well, that’s certainly my opinion.”

“What about…when you asked me if I thought that what had happened was love…what answer did you wish to hear?”

“The honest one.”

Aimeric bit his lip. “I’ve never been in love with anyone before. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Sometimes my body does that _thing_ – like it did last night – but it’s not really in response to anything or anyone. But last night it—I—” He broke off, not knowing how to articulate his feelings in a way that would be comprehensible to a normal human being. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be doing this,” Aimeric said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. He thought of his parents fighting about him the night before. Did his mother suspect? Did she disapprove? He could not lose his mother’s affection. Not hers too. 

The Regent stopped, making Aimeric stop as well. “Aimeric, I will speak to you as an adult,” the Regent said, very seriously. “You have…you are very young but not so young that you cannot not know your feelings and your desires. I know mine, but you must know yours as well. I do not know what it is that frightens you: my rank or my age or some foul gossip someone told you. But I want you to think whether or not you want—this.” He reached out and touched Aimeric’s cheek, sliding his hand over the side of Aimeric’s neck, letting it rest at the nape. 

Aimeric considered this. So what if it was frightening and new? Lots of things were. So what if his mother disapproved – he was used to disapproval. So what if sometimes he felt terribly embarrassed and awkward – that was simply part of growing up and having to do something for the very first time in front of someone he _wanted_ to like him. He had not been happy for a year, he even wondered if he had been truly happy before the war. Nothing compared to what it felt like to be looked at the way the Regent looked at him. To be looked at like that by a man _like_ the Regent – with his rank and experience and wisdom and strength in the face of the tragedy of losing his family. If this wasn’t what being in love felt like, then what was?

“What if I do?”

The Regent smiled at him and held his eyes. “Then be brave, Aimeric. Be brave like your brothers and Prince Auguste were at Marlas. No, this isn’t war, but it is something that frightens you, and in the face of that you must be brave. If not for yourself, then for me. I’ve been frozen for the past year since my brother and dearest nephew died. Laurent is not one for feelings and comfort. And I have no one else. I can’t afford to have anyone else in the capital. But then I came here and met you and it’s like the spring sun came out to melt the snow. If you cannot be brave for yourself, be brave for me.”

Aimeric closed his eyes and let the Regent kiss him. Soft, at first, then deeper and harder. Their hands found each other’s bodies, and Aimeric never looked back. 

*~*

The rest, followed.

*~*

_…I know you are very busy now that you are back at court. Affairs of state must always take precedence, I agree, and I admire passionately your love for Vere and respect for the South. My father does as well, and I promise you that you will not regret your decision to make him an ambassador. But do write to me at least occasionally, only a few lines now and then in your spare time. You said it would be improper for you to call me to court just now – too obvious. I will find reason to go, then, or to be summoned. You have taught me so much over these past weeks, thing that I did not know of my own body or heart. And that is to speak nothing of the joy you gave me. I was so miserable before you came, and truthfully, am so lonely now that you are gone. But while we were together you made my life worth living like nothing else could, just when I had almost no faith left. I only hope I was able to repay at least a fraction of that favor._

_I am forever in your debt and in your service. My honor, my life and my sword are yours, form this day, until my last breath._

Aimeric paused, his newest white-plumed quill hovering over the last line of the letter to His Royal Highness the Regent of Vere. _No, that’s not quite right,_ Aimeric thought, re-reading it to himself. That was what he had once dreamed of saying to Prince Auguste, an entire lifetime ago when he had still been a little foolish boy who dreamed of serving a noble and true prince straight off the pages of a storybook. But Prince Auguste had been an ideal more than a person. Aimeric had never spoken to him, never touched him, never known him. But the Regent was real. He was flesh and blood. Aimeric had spoken with him, touched him – in every possible way. Known him. His dreams of serving Prince Auguste had been a lifetime ago and he was no longer a child. 

Aimeric struck out the last sentence and re-wrote it. 

_My honor, my life and my heart are yours, form this day, until my last breath._

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Lewis Capaldi's "Someone You Loved" on repeat basically the entire time while writing this. So, I guess that's the unofficial soundtrack for this fic.


End file.
